The Lonely Ones
by Miistical
Summary: All four of these men, who now soaked in their cloud of love, used to belong to family. Brothers and sisters, history deep and rich and painful - but now they belonged to just one. Truthfully, it was their family's fault for this; their fault that these men pushed away and went off to find love in someone too different to be family.
1. The End

Another World Conference gone by, but the countries there held a different charge. Each and every one were bursting, emotions in bright reds and blues and greens nearly coloring their skin with their intensity. Yet none can say they felt the grief of a few certain nations.

Spain cast a glance over at the flustered South Italy. The Spaniard stood across the room, Northern Italy to his right and Belgium to his left; neither would dare to leave him alone. A glint of regret had his mouth trembling as he fingered a velvet box that he earlier placed in his jacket pocket. The pad of his finger, rough with centuries of work, glided smoothly across the top.

His thoughts occupied, Spain came back to the room by a sharp inhale on his left and a muffled sob on his right. Risking his control - over his sadness, his pain, his _rage_ - Spain bit his lip and sought out Romano from beneath his lashes. He tensed and closed his eyes in pain as Romano's lips were seized in a loving kiss by someone other than he.

Spain fought to keep the tears at bay and turned away, because he knew that if he looked for a second more, he would see a smile pull at Romano's lips and hear a laugh bubble out of his throat. Surely, it was the sweetest kind of torture to witness this.

Across the room stood another set of three, a trio of blonds focused on their missing forth piece. The tallest of them all stood stiffly, hands clenching in his fight to hold back the urge to punch something. America couldn't believe it, couldn't believe he was so blind as to not notice his brother's lingering looks and glass eyes. Couldn't believe that he didn't notice he was causing his brother's heart to break.

When he finally understood, after all that happened, he ran through the building; hoping against everything that he made it before the start of the meeting. But, when he arrived, he knew it was too late. Instead of finding Canada invisible in his seat, he was practically the center of attention as he leaned down to whisper something in the ear of the nation he held close.

America had felt like he was sucker-punched and paid no attention to anything the others said, numb to even Canada's murmured concerns.

Now, he watched with England and France as Canada simply held his new lover in his arms, the blond's chin nestled just right on the shorter man's head. America winced when his heart panged at Canada's obvious contentment and the pang slowly turned into a burn when Canada chuckled and kissed his lover's forehead.

Never has America, England, or France seen this side of the Canadian; so loving and tender, so peaceful and happy, full of understanding and patience. While, yes, it was easy to see all of these traits, it was always after a little digging that they got him to open up like that.

England, as he watched the other nation simply melt in his ex-colony's arms, silently complained in a strained voice, "He must get that from you, Frog." France did not rise up to the words, too engrossed with the love his son finally found.

Normally, America would have marched over to his brother, declared Canada his, and been on with his day. But, it simply would not help. He had long ago lost that chance.

Opposite of the small, mourning family sat a pair lost in memories. While Austria tried - truly, he did - he could not shake off the presence of the newcomer. As well, Hungary didn't even try to pay attention to what Switzerland was trying to tell them; she was far too engrossed in what their ex-lover was doing.

Prussia was as much Elizabeta's as his, but the thought of "was" overwhelmed the Austrian, to which Switzerland saw and silently excused himself. Neither of his dark haired companions said a word.

The first thing the two noticed of Prussia was his Iron Cross gone and a ring adorning on his left hands fourth finger. Austria lightly brushed his fingertips against his own Iron Cross and refused the notion, no matter how plausible, that Prussia gave up his Iron Cross for that new ring. Hungary, however, noticed how he scanned the room for his lover and couldn't believe the way he was smiling - all soft eyes, soft cheeks, soft lips.

They knew, in a staggering sense of truth, that their place in the Prussian's heart was filled with another presence - and the two could only move on from there.

While the two sat together, an entire family of countries grouped up for support. Honestly, China couldn't believe his eyes.

At the end, after the meeting had finally come to a close, South Korea had decided to dance. China, with a stab of remorse, knew he would normally tell South Korea to knock it off, but this time, there was no need to. The entire Asian family was taken aback as they watched the shocking display with loss etched into their faces as they saw South Korea slowly turn and twirl to the European Waltz.

A dance he had never once learned.

Usually, he would be spouting out Korean lyrics while jumping up and down like a rabid squirrel on caffeine; claiming he was moving to the newest song of some popular K-Pop band. But, ever since _'the incident'_ (which had been dubbed by pretty much everyone), South Korea had tamed himself somewhat. Not for any other reason than to make his new partner a little more comfortable.

As the two danced in slow circles, China's eyes sought out any reason to reclaim little South Korea back into the family as his annoying baby brother once more. Yet, the only thing he found was a sweet smile, a light blush, and a loving kiss.

Japan took China's shoulders and together they averted their eyes, the scene before them meant only for the two sweethearts lost in their partner of love and dance.

All four of these men, who now soaked in their cloud of love, used to belong to family. Brothers and sisters, history deep and rich and painful - but now they belonged to just one. Truthfully, it was their family's fault for this; their fault that these men pushed away and went off to find love in someone too different to be family.

Everything seemed to happen so fast, so rushed - where did it all begin?

Well, I'm sure these men would love to tell you their tales...


	2. Capitolo Uno: Southern Italy

_Everyday that is extraordinary always starts out normally, doesn't it? Same old boring routine, same old people you see, same old arguments both on the way there and already started at the destination. However, I guess that is what makes an extraordinary day not so ordinary._

_You never see it coming._

* * *

><p>Romano felt more pissed than usual.<p>

It was during the break at the recent World Conference that Romano realized this. He had clenched his knuckles and balled his hands into fists, ground his teeth, tensed his muscles - and Romano wasn't sure if he spouted steam out of his ears or not. His usual glare took on an edge that made his eyes wicked sharp, the air around him charged with aggravated energy.

It wasn't a pretty picture.

Romano was standing, shielded from view thanks to the shadows cast by the drapes, by a window in the library. He had paced there for the past ten minutes, trying his best not to just run outside and beat the ever-loving shit out of Spain. Said Spaniard was the cause of his anger.

This time, it was for good reason.

However, no matter how pissed Romano was, he just couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. As much as Romano fought, he really hated violence. As much as he wanted to, he could never just attack his longest friend.

He couldn't bear to see him anyway, not after what he witnessed in the garden.

* * *

>Romano was currently on the weirdest trek he had ever been on, in his not-so-humble opinion.<p><p>

First off was the meeting, which had gone as every single one of them went, all loud and ridiculous, in which nothing got done - something he'd actually like for a damn change. Not like he's told anyone, considering they all think he doesn't need to be there, but he has his own country to deal with.

As Romano packed up his papers, he sighed and eyed his brother from across the room - the younger of the two surrounded by bright eyes and smiles as he was lead out. Romano recounted how they finally became separate people. At the Italian unification signing, Romano's brother finally became what everyone already thought he was: Italy. And Romano, well, he was proud to be the Vatican.

Of course, Romano huffed to himself, it's not like Veneziano knows this; Veneziano didn't have to give up any land. Romano passed by the nations, suddenly craving a cigarette, as he mourned the feeling of all the land he had to give up. Honestly, he was in a horrible condition afterwards, but he was lucky he was only half a country in the first place - it could have been a lot worse.

Romano always knew that it would be his brother to disappear, not him. Venice was his younger brother's heart and it was sinking straight into the sea, more and more each year. Rome, Romano's own heart, was just fine; he'd live for centuries more. But, in an attempt to save Veneziano, Romano gave up his land for his brother's. Really, it _was_ better if he were to disappear instead; who would want cranky, old Romano instead of sweet, bubbly Veneziano?

His pace picked up as he neared the door and his thoughts all crashed together in a swirl of agony. He really ought to have learned by now, every time his mind went down this familiar path, it always ended the same way: In tears, smelling of smoke, wine heavy on his tongue.

However, all of this was a great lesson as well. Romano finally perfected his mask while around others, refusing to let a single one of those bastards see his broken soul. They'd want to help and there's no helping something that had been broken for millennia. He had already made that mistake twice now, and while their help wasn't needed, Romano supposed he felt better for it.

Pulling himself together before he rammed right into the door, Romano was almost free until he felt someone latch onto his arm tightly. Looking down, an eyebrow raised and a curse scorching his throat, Romano bit back his rudeness at the sight of Belgium. It seemed that, at the end of the meeting, Belgium had managed to sink her nails into him - mouth all curled and eyes twinkling slyly - for... some reason Romano couldn't get.

Eyebrow still raised, he gave the blonde woman his complete attention. When he was under Spain, Belgium was the sweetest person to him; which carried on to the present day. The least he could do is hear her out first before judging anything else.

From what he got from her fast, not to mention _French_, chatter was that Spain needed him in the garden. While he was interested, Romano was extremely wary. Belgium knew he didn't have an affinity for French (yeah, he understood, but that was only because Veneziano objected to Italian while he was staying with the Frog Bastard) and _he_ knew that Belgium only spoke it when something effeminate was involved; like shopping or long-range shooting.

So when Belgium spoke French to him, Romano instantly knew something weird was up. When she told him about Spain, Romano went from cautious to annoyed real damn fast.

Deciding it was for Belgium, Romano consented and, with a swift kiss to his cheek, Belgium ungracefully shoved him out the door and into the hallway. One wink and she disappeared, leaving the unbalanced man sprawled on the floor.

Romano jumped up quickly and, after gathering his papers back into his case with a few muttered swears, he set off for the garden.

As he made his way there, he wondered why the garden. Yes, it was one of his favorite places, but Spain was more prone towards the kitchen than anything else. Sometimes the ballroom if Austria didn't have a stick up his ass that day and relented to Spain's pleading of hearing him play. (Romano always suspected that Austria was the reason they _had_ a ballroom in the first place; the man always had a freaking piano with him and where else would they keep the thing?)

Shaking his head, Romano had to remind himself that he was a man on a mission; though his mood was dampened by the fact it was probably something stupid and tomato related. While Romano did love tomatoes, sometimes he wished Spain would talk to him about something _other_ than a damn fruit.

In his daydreams, the ten minute walk only felt like a few seconds to Romano and he only managed to snap himself out of it when sunlight hit him in the face. Squinting, he shielded his eyes with his right hand and walked through the open patio door. After his eyes adjusted and he looked around some, Romano had to roll his eyes. Of _course_ Spain would leave the freaking door open and let all the bugs inside.

Scoffing at the man's inability to think (while ignoring the fact that Romano used to do that all the time himself), he made it one foot backwards before hearing a squeal. Narrowing his eyes from a completely different reason this time, Romano pivoted harshly. Why was he not surprised that Veneziano was here?

Resigning himself to the torture he was bear to witness, Romano gave in and slumped off to wherever his two morons were.

When he passed a bush, however, his entire mood dropped. Right around the corner, where no one could them, was Spain and Veneziano - together. Romano's mind could only see one thing at a time: Spain and Veneziano, Spain hugging Veneziano, Veneziano squealing, Spain holding a little box, Veneziano holding a ring...

All at once, Romano's chest constricted and his lungs ached for breath. Automatically, he turned his sadness into fury, his tears to curses and ran off. He raced back inside, not bothering with the door, and down hallway after hallway; searching for one room to give him peace.

* * *

><p>At first he had been shocked, then denial came into play. His heart felt like it was breaking, ripping into two, and shattering out of his chest. Tears clouded his vision as he used his infamous speed to reach the library in record time. Now, here he was, unable to use his anger for anything other than waste energy.<p>

Thoughts bubbled and bursted, not one able to sustain him any sense of peace or mind. Every single excuse in the book was made for Spain; always for Spain. He was one of few able to stand Romano's foul mouth and fouler mood for a long length of time and so Romano made an exception for him, every time.

Yet, now, in the seclusion of the library, Romano stopped his useless movement and dropped to his knees, not taking the time to wipe the tears away. No matter what he thought, no matter what he told himself, the image of Spain down on one knee before his _brother_ burnt itself into his memory and seared away his walls. No wonder Belgium was so giddy; there was going to be a wedding.

He made sure to press the scene he witnessed in the far back corners of his mind. He never wished to revisit those images and the emotions that overwhelmed him as they did now. He couldn't stand it, he knew it would be too much.

Romano couldn't even make himself look up as a pair of footsteps came steadily closer to him. Nothing was said as the person wrapped their arms around the shaking form of him; Romano's head on their shoulder as they tried to comfort the crying Italian. Romano could do nothing but wrap his arms around their waist, and bury himself into their shoulder.

He knew exactly who it was.

The two stayed in that position of comfort for who knows how long, the resumed meeting not even passed as a thought to get up. The two merely stayed there, on the floor way past their legs going numb, until Romano was comforted. They knew no one would go looking for Romano in the library, because "this is Romano we're talking about" and the other nations would go and look in the garden, the kitchen, and perhaps some hiding places.

Only two people know that whenever Romano is upset, he'd surround himself with precious literature or artwork. When Romano's closest friends asked why, he said it reminded him of the Renaissance and the happy times of the past. Now, one of those two people were already there with him, so it was only a matter of time until the second found his way to them.

It only took a few more minutes to hear a fast pace, not yet a run, make its way to the library. But, yet again, when the footsteps became increasingly louder, Romano didn't react. His friend did, probably to give the other a look that spoke of "don't ask", but the only thing Romano cared about at that moment was keeping his thoughts away from the sight that started this all.

Both knew that Romano was now the Vatican, something they also knew he was inherently proud of. Together they tried to bring him out of hiding with coos of praise and acceptance, love and understanding. However, the Italian just clung tighter and tighter to his first friend, to the point where it was hard to tell they were two separate beings.

The first friend sighed as he ran his fingers through Romano's reddish hair, mindful of the curl there, and spoke quietly to the second. Romano was too lost in his own meddled thoughts to translate the spoken words of English into something his mind could comprehend. There was a sigh and the shift of clothing as the other stood up. The second friend left.

Romano set his tear-stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes to the one whom was coddling him. He tried to open his mouth to question where the other had gone, but before he could, Romano felt himself move. In a flash of bright colors, the other picked Romano up bridal style to hide them among the curtains.

A look of confusion must have crossed Romano's face as his friend whispered his reasoning; so that they'd be covered more and less likely to be spotted if anyone were to check the library.

So there the two sat, even after people stopped searching for them and the meeting ended. The last of the three did not return and come back for them, but the two didn't mind or notice.

After what had to be hours Romano finally sat back up and out of his friends arms. As he cleared his eyes, Romano couldn't help but look at the scene from an outsiders point of view and just had to blush. The scene looked like the two were embracing, with Romano's friend running his hand down his spine. When the Italian's friend noticed the blossoming red race to Romano's cheeks and ears, a soft sounding laugh floated out from behind the curtain.

Romano relaxed and his cheeks went back to a light pink and he folded himself back into the other man's broader chest. Romano would tell him what was wrong in due time; he always did. Right then, however, Romano just wanted the silence.

But, just because the meeting was over and the others stopped looking, didn't mean they couldn't be found by someone who decided to stick around.


End file.
